


Resurrection

by CenturiesPast



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Harry Hart Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Mentorship, Other, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4461032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CenturiesPast/pseuds/CenturiesPast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tends to an injured Eggsy post-mission. Thing is, Eggsy doesn't know that Harry's alive. Well, not YET anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection

Eggsy groggily opens his eyes, frowning when gazing upon an all-too-familiar ceiling that resurrected unwelcomed emotions. But whether welcomed or not, pain didn’t need an invitation to barge in and hijack someone’s mind. Which brings him back to the question, why the fuck was he staring at Harry’s ceiling? And it’s stupid because a fucking ceiling shouldn’t make him this upset. Maybe because it forces him remember the number one person he tried so damn hard to forget.

And that’s probably why it hurts so much.

And it does. It really fucking hurts, in that way that makes him feel busted up and hollow. He didn’t lose everything- he’s still got a job in the Kingsman, but what he did lose… it meant a lot.

He lost Harry.

While swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to prop his leg up and push himself into a sitting position.

Bad idea.

His left leg erupts in pain and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck!”

But then, someone’s pushing him down back to the bed with firm, gentle hands.

“Lie still.”

_No._

That voice.

Every fiber, muscle, and tissue in his body freeze and his eyes snap open.

_It can’t be._

But lo and behold, there’s Harry, completely intact, whole, not a single scratch on his perfect frame, and Eggsy swears he’s lost his mind.

He stares into those same brown eyes that haunted him day and night. He feels his jaw slacken. His mind couldn’t even form words, let alone string them together. He couldn’t even bring himself to wipe the tears that spilled down the sides of his face. He swallows, barely, and finally forms one word that seemed to summarize the unquiet recesses beneath his cranium.

“How?”

Not a single crack in his sang-froid. “Sheer luck I suppose.”

The emotions he purposely locked away were like water and he was a fucking sponge, soaking it all up until he was overflowing. Sleep was beckoning him, but with all his might he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted…he wanted… he wanted Harry. To gaze, hear, and touch him- just to see if he’s real and not some cathartic hallucination. Although, it’s nowhere near cathartic.

The corners of Harry’s mouth upturn slightly from watching him battle sleep. Smug bastard. He leans in and re-adjusts his covers, and Eggsy can’t help but inhale his scent.

“Rest,” he whispers.

And in the end, sleep won.

 

o.O.o

 

When Eggsy woke once more and saw that his mentor wasn't at his side, he panicked. It made him think that maybe he dreamt all this. No, it felt too real to be a dream, but if it was, man is his subconscious one cold-hearted bitch. He shifts underneath the covers, accidently jostling his left leg that screams at him to stop moving. He hisses at the pain and seriously wonders how he’s still breathing with all the shit he’s pulled. It’s a damn-near miracle he hasn’t died during a mission yet.

Then, a thought demanded his undivided attention. Surely it would take an interminable amount of time to recover from something like a bullet to the head. Eggsy felt his heart plummet down to his gut. So, where was Harry all this time? Why hadn’t anyone told him? And just like that, anger flooded his veins.

“Ah, you’re up.”

Eggsy snapped out of his thoughts and his eyes locked onto Harry’s figure. The term, ‘you look like you’ve seen a ghost’ would be extremely ironic because he still can’t believe it. But believe it or not, Harry approaches the bedside holding a glass of water and a circular tin plate that held two pills.

“Questions first.” Eggsy demanded, and thanked God that his voice was steady.

Harry held his gaze before setting them aside and sitting by Eggsy’s feet. The bed dips under his weight, and it’s a scary reminder of how real this all is.

“What would you like to know?” He asks with that cool calm voice of his.

His cool demeanor only pisses him off further.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“In recovery.” He states it like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“Yeah? Well you look pretty healthy to me.” It isn’t his best offense, but that’s all that Eggsy’s addled brain can come up with now.

“What is this about, Eggsy?” By now, Eggsy could punch him in the face because he _knows_ why.

“Was a phone call too much to ask? Or how ‘bout a ‘Yo Eggsy, I’m alive. No need to fucking _mourn_ anymore!”

“I understand that you’re upset-

“Fuck you!” Eggsy backlashes. “I’m not some fucking dog that you could take care of then ditch, a’ight?”

It’s a low blow and he knows it. He sees Harry’s gaze harden and he knows people are already dead before they can make it to this stage. He buries his face in his hands. The only thing worse than your father dying, is when he _willingly leaves_.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He repeats it over and over again like some mantra, and screws the palms of his hands into his eyes as if that will stop the tears from coming. But it doesn’t. “Shit!” He lashes out. Only because anger is better than whatever the fuck this is, and he hits the mattress with all he’s got- enough to rock the springs underneath and jostle his lower leg. But who cares if it hurts? He’s about to do it again, but Harry seizes his wrist in a vice-like grip.

Eggsy tries to dislodge his wrist away, but Harry meanly tightens his hold. His free hand attempts to punch him, but Harry captures that too. This only aggravates Eggsy further, and he struggles violently, whilst cursing the living hell out of him.

“Eggsy,” Harry says through all the thrashing, “calm yourself.”

“Let me go, you fucking bastard!”

But Harry doesn’t let go.

Not this time.

He feels him straddle his waist and pin his hands to his sides. He twists and pulls for all he’s worth. The helplessness, the weakness, the exhaustion- it all inundates him until he can’t take it anymore. “I hate you!” He screams, heart wrenching when Harry’s expression morphs into something inscrutable. “I don’t need you!” And God, why does it sound like a lie? Why does it _taste_ like a lie?

“You need someone,” Harry says, so sure of himself and he’s just so unsure. Harry’s like gravity, a constant primary force binding everything together, and he’s like a piece floating debris spiraling away. “And I don’t see anyone else around. You simply have to trust me.”

Trust. It’s a heavy word for someone like Eggsy. Someone who’s been used and abused all his life. Someone who lies as easily as he breathes, except for anyone with the last name Hart. Someone who, like water, has taken shape of various vessels and containers that he doesn’t recognize his own shape anymore. Trust’s a terrifying thing for someone like that.

Thing is, he doesn’t seem to have a choice.

“There you are,” Harry’s saying, voice firm and steady above him as the last fight wanes out of him. “Just settle down, Eggsy. You’re alright.” 

Except he isn’t, he realizes with a hitch in his breath. He isn’t alright because he lost one of the most important persons, again. He isn’t alright because he hasn’t slept well since it happened. He isn’t alright because he’s been living this past month mostly alone because he fears what will happen when he gets too attached to people. His leg also hurts like shit.

He turns his head to meet Harry’s gaze and he’s looking down at him like he’s some fucking tragedy. That somehow makes it all worse. The tears come faster now.

Then, Harry’s putting an arm underneath his back and wrapping his other one around his waist, picking him up like he weighs nothing. And as soon as Eggsy’s head is cushioned on Harry’s chest, he immediately buries his nose and inhales the expensive cologne and the smell of…home.

Really, he should be embarrassed. Nestled in Harry’s arms, balling like a fucking two-year-old. But he’s so physically and emotionally drained that he can’t bring himself to care. He suddenly remembers something important.

“I don’t hate you.” he mumbles into Harry’s chest.

“What was that?”

He knows damn well the posh git heard him just fine.

He turns his face to the side, his voice neighboring shouting. “I said I don’t hate ya. What, you need a hearing aid or something?”

Harry snorts and Eggsy can feel him smiling, which increases his mood, if only by a little. Harry dips them both forward, picking up the painkillers and holding them out for Eggsy to take.

“Nuh-uh,” Eggsy says, shaking his head, “I ain’t taking those. They mess with my head.”

“They will help alleviate the pain.”

He opens his mouth to argue-

“Eggsy,” Harry says with that authoritive tone of his that leaves no room for an argument.

“Yes master,” he says sarcastically, accepting the painkillers. He raises the glass of water Harry gives him, “Cheers,” before downing the pills.

Harry smirks, “Cheeky brat.” He takes the empty glass and sets it down beside the bed.

Eggsy resumes their previous position, tucking his head back underneath Harry’s chin. He feels a hand card through his hair… and that’s better than the painkillers.

“I am sorry for all this you know,” he hears Harry say.

He smiles because he knows it’s as sincere and emotional as Harry can get. 

“That’s okay,” he finds himself saying, “I forgive you.”

His smile grows wider when he feels Harry tighten his hold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
